Once Left to Fate
by L. E. Wigman
Summary: "Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like." - Lemony Snicket (post-war)


Disclaimer: I don't own Hogan's Heroes.

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She could smell the food before she even started across the foggy street, her heels clacking rhythmically on the cobblestones. Soft accordion music accompanied the delectable scents, drifting up to greeting the patrons and enticing all who strolled past to enter. She smiled as she starting down the steps. Of course, Louis' restaurant would have that appeal, she thought. That was the very nature of the man, his personality to a tee.

She pulled open the door bearing a delicately scripted, _Café Treize_. Stepping inside, she was greeted by soft light and bright chatter. Louis was located immediately, slowly traversing the dining room chatting with his customers and thanking them for attending his establishment. He'd put on a few kilos and now sported glasses. She was surprised by the changes, but fifteen years was quite a long time; after all, it wasn't like she was the same young woman who ran around the countryside committing acts of espionage against the Reich.

"Bonsoir, l'ami," she called, removing the black wool coat from her shoulders and revealing a figure-hugging, green dress. The room was warm and lively, a welcome change from the chilly autumn air outside.

LeBeau looked up and his face brightened considerably. He crossed the room, weaving his way through the tables. "Tiger, I am so pleased you made it."

He took both of her hands and pulled her close enough to place a gentle kiss on each cheek. Her smile was gentle and held the same hint of coquettish charm from her youth. "I have not been called that in many years."

"Come," he said, taking her coat "I have just the table for you, if you don't mind sharing with an old friend…"

Tiger almost asked who, but then she saw him. He, too, had put on the weight one seems to find with middle age and his hair was greying at the temples, but his dark eyes still glittered with excitement.

"Maurice!"

There was another round of hellos and kisses, then they sat. Louis, after hanging her coat, presented his hand-written menu with a bit of a flourish. "And what shall I get madam to start the evening?"

"You choose," she told him, trusting his palette completely. He grinned and scurried back to the kitchen.

As the evening progressed, the music went through rounds. Cheery and gay, then quiet and relaxing, then back to a cheery tune. People came, ate, drank their wine and cocktails, and then left. All the while Tiger and DuBois remained at their table. Dinner turned into dessert which became after-dinner drinks. They sat going over old times and great conquests. Eventually they fell into a silence which grew long.

"Why did you not marry him?"

DuBois didn't even have to say his name, Tiger knew. She looked down at the sherry and considered a certain set brown eyes that lit up when explaining his next crazy plan that would inevitably work. The firm set jaw. The lips that could weave a convincing, yet completely untrue, story one moment; and set her own lips on fire the next. She remembered that last night in her little flat in Paris. He'd flown down from London just to say goodbye. She hadn't expected that, but she should have known that he knew how to get the leave. He also knew how much she needed it. Perhaps they both did...

_She slipped the cigarette from her bedside table and on cue he provided the lighter. The smoke filled her lungs as she inhaled. "When do you go back to America?"_

_The question dangled as he watched her breathe out. His lips found her shoulder, placing gentle urgent kisses up to her neck. She frowned, though she didn't tell him to stop._

"_You are avoiding my question," she whispered. _

_He pulled back far enough to look into her eyes. She knew what he had to do. Hell, wasn't it the same thing as she? Life wouldn't just go back to normal. It would need to be brought back; kicking and screaming, if necessary. She knew as well as he, the types of missions they'd completed. The full debrief alone would take weeks… then there was all the declassification and transfer of information to wherever the tribunal would be. He might even have to testify. The information their group had collected during those last few months of the war…_

_He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers, as the memories played over. The photographs, the documents, the first-hand reports from any of the poor souls they'd managed to help. He needed to push it away, to not let himself feel before the job was done. Focus._

"_Robert," she said, the concern evident. "What is it?"_

_He opened his eyes slowly and said, "Tomorrow. I leave tomorrow night and I don't know when I'll be able to return." _

"_So that is that." _

_He pushed away, sitting up with a small huff of complaint. "There's no need to sound so dismal about it," he said. "It's not like I have a choice. This is the Army, Mr. Brown*."_

_She tapped the ash in the tray and took another puff. "I was not dismal. Simply realistic. The odds were never in our favor, mon cher."_

"_I've learned the best way to win is to cheat fate, stack the deck, make the odds your own." He looked down at her slight frame, then leaned back over her. "Come with me," he said, the anticipation of a yes in his dancing brown eyes. "I'll show you Washington and New York. I'll even get you a hot dog at Yankee Stadium with all the mustard and sauerkraut they got."_

_She giggled, her hands twining into his hair. "I give you fine wine and you give me hot dogs. I'll never understand Americans."_

"_You didn't answer my question."_

"_You know I can't leave Paris yet. They still need me. The Government needs all of us to put things right."_

_Hogan looked away, a humorless smile on his face. "I guess you're right," he said softly, "the odds are against us."_

"_Then let's not waste the time we have left worrying about tomorrow," she whispered, before turning his head back toward her and kissing him. _

"Tiger?"

She looked up, unshed tears making DuBois' concerned face swim and wave. "It would not work," she said, "Our countries needed us. Him in America and me here in Paris."

The corner of DuBois' mouth twitched up momentarily. "You could have compromised… anything for love?"

She ran her fingertips on the edge of the glass, but didn't answer. They sat in silence for a few moments.

"We were all in love with you, you know."

She looked up in surprise.

"It's true. You were Tiger, the fierce protector of her homeland and leader of the Resistance, wanted by the Gestapo everywhere. You were an idol - a goddess on a pedestal that was untouchable by any mere mortal."

She flushed and whispered for him to stop, she didn't feel like a goddess and she certainly never wished anyone to view her as such, but he went on, his gaze focused on her fingers and his mind away to another time.

"I suppose that's why you and Papa Bear were so well-suited. Legend and goddess, what could have been a better match?"

"Obviously the fates do not agree." She tried to smile. She hoped the conversation would turn to anything else. Could he not see the pain it put her through? Wasn't the heartbreak on her face obvious? Or had she become too good at wearing the mask that kept her pride intact?

"Don't they?"

Looking up with a quizzical expression, she noticed his gaze was now focused on something behind her. She shifted in her seat and spotted him standing in the doorway.

"Robert," she breathed his name.

He was a general now, the uniform was a dark, rich blue instead of green. His face had lines in between his brows and on either side of his mouth, indicating both worry and laughter had played prominent roles in painting the canvas of his face. He was slowly looking over the room, nodding appreciatively at the decor and atmosphere. There was something more, something akin to pride. Then their eyes met. She froze, wanting to cry out. Wanting to rush into his arms, but fearful of rejection, she turned away, letting her gaze fall to the sherry.

"Oh, no, goddess, you won't get away from fate that easily," DuBois whispered.

"DuBois, it's been too long. Tiger."

The voice made her shiver and she looked up to find him standing by the table. That charming, light-as-air smile played across his face in a manner she'd come to associate with the American.

"Bonsoir, Robert," she said softly.

"I didn't realize I'd be seeing more than one old friend tonight."

Tiger stared into his eyes for a moment. They were both speaking silently the feelings one only shares with their lover.

DuBois swallowed and cleared his throat quietly, drawing Hogan's attention. "Would you care to join us, Col… I mean, General?" he asked.

Hogan chuckled at the slip, for to this day Carter and Newkirk made the same slip. Old habits and long memories, he guessed. "I wouldn't want to intrude on your date," he said.

"It's not a date," Tiger said, quickly adding, "We are old friends, nothing more."

She missed the flash of hurt in his eyes, but he quietly agreed, saying, "Louis put us at the same table. It was a coincidence."

"Sounds like destiny," Hogan said. "What are the odds of us all coming today?"

Tiger indicated a bare spot on the table. "Please, join us."

Hogan started to pull the chair out, when a delicate woman in a rosy pink evening dress called to him. He turned to beckon her over. Even before he introduced her, Tiger knew she was his wife. Who else would she have been?

She was not naive. She knew about his relationships with the Kommandant's secretaries, and she wasn't foolish enough to believe that there weren't a dozen more over the course of the war and goodness knows how many before. She knew he was the type of man to always find feminine company, but a part of her had hoped that she had been something special; that there had been a deep connection and when they'd met again, it would be as if they were never apart.

But fate is a cruel mistress and he did, indeed, have a wife. A wife whom he looked upon with the passion he once shared with her. It hurt, a sharp kind of pain that went straight to her heart. But one mustn't let them see the damage, so she put her head up and pressed on her most charming smile.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Sarah." Her voice was, thankfully, steady and the mask must have been convincing. She looked at her watch and made a quick excuse. "I have appointments early in the morning. Please, forgive me for bowing out."

DuBois waved off her attempt to pay, stating that it was the least he could do for the charming company she'd given him this evening. Hogan and Sarah were greeting LeBeau as she made her exit. She turned once while putting on her coat and found Robert staring.

In his eyes, she saw the could-have-beens, the what-ifs, and the almosts, but none of it mattered. Life is a series of decisions and circumstances, and second chances seldom present themselves. They'd had their shot that night all those years ago and not for the first time did she feel the slightest bit of regret that she hadn't accepted his offer. She gave him a smile, which she sincerely hoped covered her hurt, and a small wave. Turning, she stepped through the door and into the cold, night air of her beloved city.

The End

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Author's Note: So, this was supposed to be a romance… Sorry, Kaitlin, I tried...

*from the song, _This is the Army, Mr. Jones _by Irving Berlin circa 1943


End file.
